


Fire and Ice

by blueelvewithwings



Series: Spanking Sunday [40]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Couch Cuddles, Dubious Consent, Episode: s01e06 Star City 2046, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up, Spanking, Unhealthy Coping Mechansism, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-19 16:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19136377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/pseuds/blueelvewithwings
Summary: After they're back from 2046, Len finds Mick and they have a talk. A very physical talk.Later, they have to deal with the fallout and find out which is the stronger force in Mick's heart: fire or ice?





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> //Mick and Len surely do not have the healthiest of relationships here... but there's cuddles in the end so things are a little better again?

„I‘m the brain, and you‘re the muscle.“

Oh, was he now? He could see it in Snart‘s eyes that he didn‘t believe it, and they both knew it wasn‘t true. But still, it stung. It stung, so Mick did the thing he always did when he was hurt.

He lashed out.

Surprisingly, his wrist was caught in a cold fist with an iron grip. He hadn‘t paid attention to Snart disabling the barrier, but now they were both inside the room, glaring at one another, Mick‘s arm caught in Snart‘s hand.

„That so, yeah?“ he growled, and Snart somehow managed to twist his arm painfully behind his back, turning Mick around to bend over the stool with the fur coat on it. Mick hissed and struggled, but a boot in the back of his neck made him go still. He might not always be the smartest, but he did have a tiny ounce of self-preservation, after all.

„You just proved you don‘t think far enough, Mick.“ Somehow, the name sounded like an insult, dripping from Snart‘s lips like venom.

„What were you thinking? Oh, I know. You weren‘t.“

Mick jerked his arm out of Snart‘s hold and tried to get in a good kick, but Snart easily held him down with that damned boot in his neck.

„Would‘ve been better than this crap here“, he grunted, trying to twist out of Snart‘s hold. His try to escape was suddenly met with a sharp pain across his buttocks that registered before the sound of something hitting clothed flesh.

„You don‘t mean that“, Snart told him, his voice ice cold and yet somehow dripping with fiery anger.

„Yes, I mean that.“ If only he could reach his heat gun, he‘d fire it up and burn Snart, burn down the entire world, turn it into the beautiful inferno that they‘d been in just hours before, turn it into the paradise that was hell on earth.

„We can do better than that.“ Whatever it was that Snart was using to spank him, it came down again, and it hurt. It was uneven and curved in places, had weird bumps in others, and Mick let out a hiss of pain. He loved pain sometimes, but it was burns that he craved, the sharp sting of a flame and the hot scorching soreness it left, not the blunt pain of something being slapped down on his ass repeatedly.

„Better? Nothing is better than that. The world on fire… it was beautiful.“

The next slap was even harder, and Mick jerked away in pain and anger, trying to somehow get out of the death grip that Snart still had on him.

„Mick, you are such an idiot!“ His ass was on fire now, just a few slaps in, and he thrashed wildly in Snart’s grasp. “That’s just your pyromania speaking.”

So what if it was? That didn’t mean that it hadn’t been beautiful and terrifying and everything Mick had ever wanted in all of his wildest dreams. And most of his wet dreams, too. It had been so breathtaking, a world on fire, and the criminal world bowing to him because he was the one to control the fire, he was the one who’d taken out their leader and had been sitting in his place then. It had been a dream come true, and Snart had taken it away from him.

Snart, who had been his partner. Who was still supposed to be his partner, who he thought was meant to be at his side. Snart, who’d taken him away from all he’d ever wanted.

The next strike stung fiercely, but Mick managed to get out somehow, twist himself out of Snart’s grasp and grab whatever the fucker had been using to beat him with.

It was his own fucking heat gun.

He’d fuck him over for that.

He kicked Snart in the stomach and twisted the gun out of his hands, cleanly striking him across the face with it.  He watched detachedly as a cut formed on his partner’s cheek and a bruise almost instantly started to bloom.

“Pyro or no, you know I just want to see the world burn. You lay a hand on me again, you’ll burn too.”

Snart was sitting on his ass, knocked over from the kick that Mick had given him, and Mick spat at him for good measure before storming out of the room. He could feel Snart’s stare following him, but he didn’t care. The asshole should be happy that he hadn’t just gone ahead and burned him already. 

Hours later he was outside, watching a pile of wood burn  and staring into the flames, lost to the world around him. Fire was so beautiful, so addictive, so tempting. It would be awe-inspiring, to see it engulf the world… it would be the best. He could see himself standing there, turning and watching his surroundings be eaten up by flames, watching houses slowly crumble into ashes and cars exploding in the distance. He could see himself smile and lean against Snart, taking his hand as he took in the sight that he was craving most. It would be a sight to behold, and even Snart wouldn’t be able to look away from the beauty, would step closer until he could almost touch the flames, until they almost singed him, and he’d understand, understand that fire is so much better than ice, and he’d  finally see and the ice in his eyes would turn to fire and - 

And he wouldn’t be Snart anymore.

Mick’s hand jerked back from where he’d gotten too close to the flames, hissing to himself as he took in the blisters forming on his red, burned skin. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, then turned away from the fire very deliberately and walked back inside without looking over his shoulder.

His heat gun was still laying beside the second pile of wood, still waiting to be lit.

He found Snart on the tiny sofa in the common area as he went to grab some ice and some gauze for his hand. Snart was holding an ice pack to his cheek, and the cut that Mick had given him peeked out from under the blue cooling pad he was using.

“Can’t handle the heat?” he asked and nodded at Mick’s hand, but there was nothing of his usual humor in his voice. It made Mick want to throw up. He took an ice cube and curled his hand around it, relishing in the sensation that was almost like a burn, but soothed his tortured skin at the same time.

“Not without you at my side”, the told Snart, and it was probably the most honest thing he’d said all day.

“Thought you wanted to see me burn”, Snart retorted, and Mick wasn’t quite sure if Snart deserved sounding so pouty. He wasn’t the one who’s ass had been turned into a blue and purple mess by his own gun, after all. He was pretty sure shitting and sitting would hurt for a damn long while after this. But he shrugged, trying to seem like he didn’t care.

“Not like I’m the only one who tells lies, is it?”

Snart sighed and turned his head away, flopping back against the backrest of the sofa, one leg thrown over the armrest. He appeared vaguely ill, and Mick acutely remembered him throwing up entire nights long after having taken a hit to the stomach. Ah yes Mick, well done.

“Look, Mick-”

“I don’t want to see you burn.”

Snart turned back to him, one eyebrow raised. So Mick slowly pushed away from where he’d still been standing by the freezer and walked over, cautiously sitting down next to Snart.

“I don’t want to see you burn”, he repeated, more firmly, and lifted some of the gauze he’d gotten for himself to dab at some of the drying blood on Len’s cheek. His hand was immediately batted away, but Len didn’t stop looking at him.

“Sure sounded like you wanted that”, he murmured, then shook his head and looked away. “Shouldn’t have let you out of that damn bus where we were supposed to wait.”

Mick swallowed, and took his time positioning himself on the couch next to his partner, shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip. It was awkward, with Len hanging on the sofa as if he’d been poured on there, but he managed. And then, slowly, cautiously, he took Len’s hand in his own burned one, keeping the ice cube between their palms.

“Only gonna say this once”, he said, and squeezed their hands around the ice cube. He closed his eyes again and breathed in deeply, holding it for a count of five before letting it out, just like his shrink had told him. The burning city appeared in front of his inner eye again, beautiful and terrific, and Snart was beside him, with his blistering hand and the burns creeping up his forearm, and with fire in his eyes instead of ice.

Sometimes, the difference between paradise and hell was just a hair’s breadth.

“Only gonna say this once, Snart”, he repeated, wanting to make sure that he got this right. Words didn’t always come out of his mouth right, and this time he needed them to be right. So he opened his eyes and looked at Len, looked straight in his icy eyes that were so right.

“No matter what. I’ll always like you more than fire.”

He could see the tears forming in Len’s eyes as he looked back at him, and then Len took Mick’s burned hand in both of his and very gently kissed the back of it.

“I’ll never let you lose yourself to the fire.” It was spoken quietly, but with such conviction that Mick didn’t doubt it for a single second. Now, away from the fire and away from the city that made his blood boil in the best of ways, he could see things more clearly. A city on fire was no place for Leonard Snart, and a city without Leonard Snart was no place for Mick. It was as easy as that, really. No fire, no matter how big, was worth losing his Len over. Len, his partner, who always stayed by his side. His partner who always dragged him back, no matter how close he got to the brink of the abyss. And if he fell, Mick was sure Len would jump straight after him, consequences be damned. Really, he didn’t deserve that man. 

Instead of replying, he pulled his hand out of Len’s grasp and got up. He took his time digging up a cloth and some antiseptic and then sat back down. He took the cooling pack away from Len and put it aside, then set to carefully cleaning the cut on his partner’s cheek. The cut that he’d put there.

“There’s some soothing cream back in our room, I can put it on your ass later?” Len was sitting perfectly still now, letting Mick do his work. At the suggestion, Mick had to chuckle a little.

“You know I can handle the heat. I like it when it burns.”

He didn’t like this kind of pain, and Len knew that, but he’d still wear it with pride. Len had given it to him, after all, to drag him back and remind him who he was. And now, in the clear light of the neon lamps of the Waverider, it was all quite clear, really. As much as he might hate to admit it, Len had been right. Right to knock him out and drag him back, and maybe even a little bit with trying to beat the shit out of him. He’d been far gone, and he didn’t know what else might have gotten him back.

“Hey, Lenny?” he murmured, noticing that Len was slowly drooping beside him, his eyes falling closed even as he leaned into Mick’s gentle ministrations on his cheek.

“Yeah?” It sounded more sleepy than anything, and Mick had to stop himself from smiling like a lovestruck teenager.

“Let’s burn that fur coat tomorrow, yeah?”

At that, Len’s eyes opened again and he looked at Mick for a long moment before leaning in and capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. When he pulled back, he had that soft smile that he only had for Mick and Lisa playing around his lips.

“Whatever you need, love.” Love. That nickname that always made Mick’s heart melt, those few times a year he got to hear it. He loved it when Len let himself be seen that vulnerable, when the ice melted away and revealed the soft-hearted man underneath.

“Just you, Lenny. Just you. You’re all I need”, he murmured. In response, Len just shifted closer and buried himself into Mick, face pressed into his neck and chests almost melting together.

Slowly, they sank down into a lying position on that much too tiny sofa, heads propped up awkwardly on one armrest and legs hanging freely over the other. Mick almost rolled off with how close he was lying to the edge and yet he already smushed Len against the backrest, caging him between the sofa and Mick himself, giving him no chance but to stay cuddled up as closely as possible. Not that he seemed to mind, with his arms winding around Mick to keep him close and their legs tangling together as if they were going to melt into one.

It was terrible, really, and Mick knew he was going to have a backache and a stiff neck and headaches in the morning, and that his knee would be miraculously twisted and he wouldn’t be able to move his arm at all, but Len was breathing little sleepy puffs against his neck and he was pressed head to to together with the man that meant the world to him. He never wanted to move. He pressed a little kiss on Len’s temple and watched as he fell asleep as fast as a little child. Len had always had sleeping problems, he knew that, and he always woke at the smallest noise and needed hours upon hours to fall asleep in the first place. But somehow, when he was safely encased in Mick’s arms, Len would sleep like a baby, and nothing short of Mick pulling away from him would be able to wake him up. That was the level of trust that Mick had some how, unwittingly, instilled into Len. He had no idea how he deserved that, but he promised himself, not for the first time, that he would try his damned best to be worthy of that trust. And he knew that the only real way to start that was to not lose himself to the flames.

So tomorrow, he decided, tomorrow they’d burn that fur coat and he’d hold hands and look into Len’s eyes until he was sure that they didn’t have any fire in them, and then he’d take Len’s face and kiss him again and again and again until the fire died out, and then he’d turn his back on that beautiful burning city forever because nothing, nothing, nothing was worth losing Len over. And he had meant it, when he said it.

Len meant more to him than fire ever could. All he could hope was that he would always remember that in time.


End file.
